


Ghost of a Chance

by missingnowrites



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: (like violence tags once I write those scenes and know what to warn for), Ancient Egypt, Gen, Kid Fic, Kid!Thief King Bakura, Minor Character Death, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Ritual Sacrifice, Ryou POV, Time Travel, Vengeance for Kuru Eruna, Work In Progress, for the sacrifice of Kuru Eruna
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:01:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29463192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missingnowrites/pseuds/missingnowrites
Summary: "My name is Ryou Bakura. You slaughtered my village. Prepare to die."When Ryou finds himself five thousand years in the past, he takes a stab at fixing things before they go wrong.
Relationships: Bakura Ryou & Thief King Bakura
Comments: 29
Kudos: 13





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> So I went on a re-reading binge of some old fandom faves, and before I could blink I was rewatching the anime and the abridged series, which then lead to _ideas_ so here I am, actually writing them out. Yu-Gi-Oh! was my first fandom, though I haven't been in it for over a decade, it was fun to return.
> 
> Yes the title is an abridged joke, but it was too perfect to pass up on :'D

Ryou tilted his head, tongue poking out between his teeth as he carefully scraped the tip of the trowel through the lines burnt into clay. Putting the trowel away without tearing his gaze from the shard in his left hand, Ryou picked up a thin brush to clear away specks of dust and broken clay, revealing the hieroglyphs beneath. Eyes flicked over the lines, taking in the bird with a human head signifying _ba_ , the soul, tripled to indicate the plural.

The shard was the largest still intact, but it still interrupted and obscured the meaning.

“Any luck there, young Bakura?” his supervisor called, and Ryou startled.

“Some,” he replied, rising from his crouch and set the shard down carefully where he’d found it, before stepping out of his assigned square and waving her over.

The dig site was a fresh one, ruins revealed by the recent shifting of sands after a storm. Unknown treasures still awaited them below the hills, and Ryou picked his way to his supervisor with care.

It was unusual for a college student to join as momentous a discovery as this one, but Ryou got lucky thricefold. For one, he had made use of his father’s name when applying. Then he’d called in a favour from Yugi, whose grandfather was well liked in the community still. And for a third…

The site hadn’t revealed its secrets yet, and while excited the archaeologists present weren’t yet aware of how great a find it was. But Ryou knew, recognized it deep in his bones, like a familiar weight around his neck, digging into his chest. The blood under the sand called to him, the restless spirits whispering into his ears during the night.

Kuru Eruna. Thieves’ Town.

If Ryou concentrated, he could almost imagine the pulse of the blood spilled here over five thousand years ago, thundering through his veins, calling to him, like to like. The spirit of the ring had left when the Items had been returned to the sacred sarcophagus, but the memories still spooked through his dreams.

Shaking himself, Ryou focussed on his supervisor, who inspected the shard he’d uncovered. Maybe it was just the desert sun beating down on him that reminded him of a life he never lived. The ghosts of the past had been laid to rest. Why would they still bother the living?

“Part of a vase, perhaps, based on the curvator,” his supervisor muttered, brushing gloved fingers over the burnt clay.

“From an urn, maybe?” Ryou suggested, rubbing his palms over his arms as a surprisingly chill breeze blew across the camp.

His supervisor hummed, wrinkled features drawn into a skeptical frown. “Not every site is one of burial, young Bakura. We’re not even in the Valley.”

“Not every dead is a king, either,” Ryou returned, making his supervisor quirk a smile and incline her head in acknowledgement.

“Yes. But this place… if there’s a burial site under all this sand, it doesn’t speak well for the shards to be carried all the way up to the top, does it? It’s more likely to be a settlement.”

Or both, Ryou thought despite himself, glancing uneasily over his shoulder.

“Regardless, a good find. Perhaps the rest of the shards will turn up nearby?” his supervisor suggested, raising her eyebrow pointedly. Ryou flushed and bowed quickly.

“Of course. I’ll go look. Apologies.”

His father had been surprised when Ryou decided to study archaeology, if proud in a distant, almost bewildered way. His friends were even more so, with a pronounced worried slant to their reactions. Why would Ryou want to go anywhere near Egypt, after everything he went through under the Ring’s influence?

Ryou wasn’t quite sure, himself. There was just something about the ancient past that drew him in. And, he told himself, he wasn’t aiming for field work - he wanted to work in restoration. A steady hand and an eye for detail helped, and the rhythm of it was soothing, reminding him of hours spent molding and painting models for his games.

That hobby, too, had been tainted by the spirit’s ulterior motifs.

But if Ryou lived his whole life trying to avoid the parts of it the spirit had touched, he’d die a very unhappy man. And how did the saying go, the best revenge was a life well lived? He had no intention to sacrifice any more of his desires and ambitions to a long dead apparition.

In all honesty, Ryou had rather expected Yugi to join him, but the other former host had gone on to study game design instead, embracing the full breadth of modern possibilities virtual technology had brought. Fitting, for the King of Games. And perhaps healthier than obsessing over the past.

Not that Ryou was doing anything the like.

There were five smaller shards Ryou found before night fell. The desert heat vanished with the sun, leaving the crew to converge on the firepit in the middle of the camp. They passed around food, drink, and their findings, each of them taking a look at what the others found and musing about their origins. Ryou kept mostly to himself, quietly finishing his dinner as his thoughts churned.

Most of the hieroglyphs were split in half, but enough remained to paint a vivid picture. He was certain it spelled either a blessing - or a curse.

“Perhaps they created funerary goods here,” one of his co-workers mused, shooting his supervisor a look. “I agree that it’s too far off of any of the burial sites, but everything we’ve found so far invokes various parts of the body.”

Sah, the spiritual body. Ib, the heart. Ba and Ka.

“Or maybe there used to be a temple here,” another suggested, gesticulating wildly with their dinner bowl. “Dedicated to Anubis, maybe, or Ma’at.”

“Perhaps,” the supervisor hummed noncommittally. She stood up and stretched, before clapping Ryou on the shoulder. “Good work, young Bakura. Nice finds for your first day out here.”

“Th-thanks,” Ryou stuttered, his cheeks flushing with heat not from the dancing flames. His supervisor shot him a wink, patting his shoulder once more before heading off to her tent. The rest of his new co-workers teased him gently with playful grins that chased Ryou as he quickly excused himself the moment he’d finished his bowl.

Desert nights got cold. Having heeded the warnings, Ryou had packed accordingly. Still, even as he lay there wrapped up in multiple layers and blankets, shivers raced down his spine as the moon rose with the howling winds. Foreboding sat heavily in his gut as Ryou shifted and curled in on himself, watching the stars twinkle in the cold, distant sky through the gap of his tent flap, fluttering in the wind.

Ryou turned his back on them and firmly closed his eyes, determined to catch at least _some_ sleep.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, Ryou finally rose from his blanket nest, pulling over an extra sweater to ward against the chill. Sand shifted under his feet as he stepped outside, the campsite thrown into the stark contrast of the cold moonlight. The campfire had been extinguished hours ago, leaving the little tent town to feel empty, lifeless. Everyone was asleep, not a soul to be seen.

Swallowing, Ryou decided a quick walk around the perimeter would be just the thing to clear his head.

The dig was a good hour and half out from the closest town of Mit Rahina. Which made sense, Ryou mused, stuffing his hands into pockets for extra warmth. The ruins of Memphis were nearby, and if memory served, Kuru Eruna had been a day’s ride to the cap-

Not his memories.

Ryou grimaced, hunching his shoulders against a particularly insistent gust of wind. If he were fanciful, he’d say the wind was pushing him away from the camp, towards the ancient ruins.

Pausing in his steps, Ryou glanced back at the tents. On second thought, he’d never denied the existence of magic or the supernatural. It would be stupid to, with his experiences, and he’d grown up with the occult besides. While others might brush the weather off as a coincidence… Ryou knew better, didn’t he?

But he was a master of denial, too. As long as he pretended everything was normal, he could ignore the bouts of unconsciousness, the missing memories, the trail of bodies left behind in the spirit’s wake. And if he could ignore the voice, pretend he was just painting another diorama, pretend he’d chosen the Ancient Egyptian theme in an attempt to connect with his father…

The desert night called to him, and Ryou rose to answer it.

Sand shifted under his steps as he walked further and further away from the camp, past the digsite they'd cordoned off, past the remnants of walls and shards of pottery. Wind howled past him, pushed him forward, affirming that he was on the right track. It parted the sand in his way, blowing small hills until they were flat ground, sloping downwards. Ryou paused when his feet hit stone, old and worn down but solid.

Stairs.

They hadn’t been there before. Something - _someone_ \- wanted him to go down there. Had revealed them just as he happened to go on a walk, on a night he couldn’t sleep, at a site a student with his lack of experience should never have been granted access to...

Some might call it fate. Destiny.

Jounouchi had gotten Yugi drunk, once, before they split up for their respective colleges and schools. At some point, inevitably, the pharaoh came up, and Yugi had mused about reincarnation, if he and Ryou looked so similar to the spirits because they were past lives… or if it was simply magic, that they were chosen vessels. Anzu had suggested that perhaps the spirits had taken after _them_ , considering their lack of memories…

Ryou wasn't sure what he believed. There _was_ that ancient tablet at the museum, though. But reincarnation? The idea didn't appeal. He didn't want to be connected that closely to the spirit of the ring, nothing beyond just another victim of circumstances. And what did that say about them, if they were the person and still so at odds?

He couldn't help but wonder, however, how the concept of reincarnation worked with the ancient Egyptian belief of the afterlife. The pharaoh had moved on, in the end, laying his spirit, his _ba_ , to rest.

And that should have been the end of it. Ryou could finally put down the Millennium Ring, buried under so much sand and collapsing magic, put down the burden of hosting the spirit and enabling his deeds. But…

But.

The pharaoh might have been laid to his final rest, and yet the spirit hadn't. None of the spirits of Kuru Eruna had.

Ryou stopped at the bottom of the stairs. The inside of the building was pitch black, and rationally he knew it wasn't safe to explore in the dark. There might be a million traps keeping its secrets safe. And yet.

Ryou let himself be drawn in, walking down a corridor he couldn't see, his steps sure.

The wind howled through the halls, echoing through the narrow corridors to reach a sort of wailing cacophony. Ryou could feel it like eyes on his back, the chill shiver down his spine. Goosebumps broke out across his arms, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. Yet, Ryou wasn’t scared. He hadn’t been scared of ghosts for a long time.

Not before the spirit, and certainly not since.

The hallway stopped abruptly, and Ryou nearly stumbled, catching himself on the wall. Pebbles crumbled down into the gaping cavern of a chamber before him, the drop sudden and deadly under his feet. And Ryou might have walked straight to his death, were it not for the beam of moonlight shining down through the broken roof, and the glint of gold the light reflected off. Squinting, Ryou crouched down on the edge.

It looked like a sarcophagus.

A very familiar one.

Frowning, Ryou pried a bit of stone loose from the wall, letting it drop down to the far away floor, counting the second until it hit. At his best guess, he was fifteen, maybe twenty metres above the ground. The wall seemed poriferous, crumbling under his fingers - easy enough to get a hold of, but just as likely to break away under his weight. It was a risk.

He glanced at the gold glinting in the middle of the chamber, raised on a platform. It had to be the reason he was here.

And he couldn’t shake the feeling it was waiting for him.

Biting his lower lip, Ryou gathered his courage and slipped his legs over the edge, slowly lowering himself down. His feet found easy purchase, and he dug his fingers between the bricks, into the crumbling mortar. At first, his descent went well enough, but about halfway down his fear reared its ugly head, stone breaking away under his hands. He scrambled for a new hold, foot slipping as well as he lost his balance. For several precarious seconds, he thought he was about to fall-

Then, his fingers caught on a sharp edge, cutting into his palm. It gave him enough of a grip to hold on, though the blood coating his palm would make further climbing difficult - aside from the pain shooting down his nerves, it made things slippery indeed.

Taking a deep breath, Ryou glanced down - and jumped.

He landed in a crouch, dust rising in a cloud around him. The landing jarred his limbs, leaving his teeth to click together hard. Slowly, he stood, shaking himself off. First things first. Ryou ripped a strip of cloth off the t-shirt underneath several layers of clothes, wiping the dirt away from the cut on his palm and then tying it off. He’d need to get a proper bandage later, but this was better than nothing while he explored the chamber.

Legs wobbling like jelly, Ryou headed for the sarcophagus, ready to be proven wrong. Except… as he reached it, his breath caught.

This was it. The cast were the Millenium Items had been birthed - and where they’d laid them to rest, not five years ago. Ryou had watched with his friends as the temple collapsed, as the Items were buried for good. That had been closer to Cairo, not down here, not a good twenty kilometres south of Gizeh.

Enthralled, Ryou reached out, touched the indent where the Millenium Ring was supposed to lay.

Except… the Stone was empty.

All that remained were the hollows where the Items were supposed to rest, and ancient hieroglyphs depicting their story. This was wrong. Ryou held his breath, fingers brushing over the carvings, marvelling at how fresh they seemed. A replica, perhaps?

And in his ears, the wind rose in a ghostly wail, the screams of thousands sacrificed for power’s sake.


	2. Kuru Eruna

Ryou didn’t know how long he knelt at the platform, examining the Millenium Stone for faults. He didn’t quite remember the original, but this seemed eerily close. Too close - he knew for a fact that no photos of the artefacts remained, all data on them corrupted once the pharaoh moved on. Ishizu had taken care of other documentation, using her influence with the museums to hide the evidence.

No one should know what the Stone looked like, and yet.

When he finally raised his head from his inspection, the sun blinded him, just high enough in the sky to peek into the chamber. Blinking rapidly to get rid of the afterimages, Ryou lifted a hand to shield his eyes. 

In the light of day, the empty chamber seemed… less ancient, somehow. Yeah, there was sand everywhere, and the building wasn’t exactly new either, but it seemed less… worn. Ryou glanced towards the wall he’d climbed down during the night, absently noting the lack of broken rubble when he knew he’d accidentally loosened quite a few of the bricks.

Slowly, he rose from his crouch, a frown tugging on the corner of his mouth. Something was very, very wrong.

Then he heard the voices.

Eyes widening, Ryou glanced around. He was wide in the open, though, a quartet of pillars nearby but unless he knew where the guards were coming from, he wouldn’t know where to hide. That thought gave him pause - how was he so certain the voices belonged to guards? - but he pushed it to the back of his mind as he rushed back to the wall he’d come from. Climbing up was harder than coming down, yet Ryou didn’t shy away from the task.

Because those voices… the ones that felt like palace guards to the long forgotten memories hidden deep in his mind… they were speaking Ancient Egyptian.

Heaving himself over the ledge, Ryou scooted far enough into the corridor to be hidden in its shadow, but close enough to be able to peek into the chamber below. He wasn’t disappointed either, two palace guards - and what about them made them so instantly recognizable as belonging to the palace, Ryou wasn’t entirely sure - stepped into the room, chatting with each other. One of them carried a torch while the other had a hand on his saber, eyes flitting to the Millenium Stone in the middle and then around the room.

Snippets of their conversation wafted up to Ryou, carried like whispers on the wind.

“...return home…”

“...bring glory…”

“...cannot wait…”

“Priest Akhenaden said-”

“...another week…”

"...serves them right…"

Heart beating fast, Ryou held still until the guards had completed their round of the chamber and left through another hallway below. Only once the echo of their footsteps had vanished did he sit up, pressing his back against the wall. It took him a while to even his breathing out, staring down at the empty Stone, his thoughts whirling.

That name… he couldn’t quite place it, but it made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Was he dreaming? Reliving a memory not his own? Maybe he'd fallen asleep in the chamber - or perhaps he'd slipped during his climb down after all and hit his head. Heck, he might as well never have gone out on his walk and this was all a weird scenario his mind cooked up. His therapist did say it was the brain's way of coping with whatever one had on their mind, and being back in Egypt certainly reminded him of many things, not all of them nice.

Then again, he had had first hand experience with how weird magic could get.

Deciding it was best to proceed with caution, Ryou nodded to himself and got up, brushing off the sand on his clothes. Then he paused. The many layers of wool might serve him well during the nights, but during the day he would boil under the unrelenting sun. Besides, the clothes were altogether too modern to blend in. He didn’t have anywhere to stash his belongings, though.

Nothing he could change. Shrugging, Ryou stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets and with one last glance at the chamber, he started walking down the corridor.

At the top of the stairs, he shielded his eyes from the sun once more. At a little distance away to his left, he could see the small clay huts of a settlement, right where the ruins used to be. Or rather would be, one day. The underground chamber he'd found was hidden from view thanks to the desert sand, and Ryou couldn't shake the ominous feeling that thought brought forth.

He needed to leave. Now.

Giving into the urge, Ryou stepped out of the building's shadow, one step, two, leaning forward until he broke out into a run. He didn't stop to wipe the sweat from his brow, or take a deep breath of the dusty desert air, sand swirling up in a cloud where he disturbed it. No, Ryou didn't stop until he reached the little village, and then only long enough to catch his breath before slipping into the narrow alleys between buildings.

The heat flushed his pale skin, making it hard to concentrate. It was easier in the back alleys, where cool air was somewhat trapped. Still, Ryou dragged his outer sweater over his head, and then the next, until he had stripped down to his signature blue and white striped shirt. Then he stuffed the abundant clothes into the body of the biggest sweater before using the sleeves to tie them around his waist like a satchel. A stop-gap measure at best - he was likely to lose them if he wasn't careful, but it was better than sweating to death.

What he needed, Ryou considered as he stepped into the streets, was a cloak and a proper bag. Food and water, too.

The people watched him from the corner of their eyes as he walked past, suspicion rolling off them like a visible aura. No one would meet his eyes, pretending to ignore him, but Ryou could feel their watchful eyes on him. Some tugged their hoods further down to hide their faces, and Ryou mentally marked them as dangerous. Why else would they hide, unless there was something for him to recognize?

Thieves' Town. The name echoed through his head as he approached an elderly woman hanging up laundry on a line between two of the huts. All evidence pointed to the fact that this settlement was the fabled Kuru Eruna. The clothes, the people, the whispers of Ancient Egyptian just out of his earshot...

And there were no guards anywhere in sight, despite him running into a patrol earlier.

"Ano," Ryou spoke up, watching as the woman's shoulders consciously relaxed. She hunched in on herself, making her appear smaller, frail even. Ryou had no doubt she was just as dangerous as the group of men watching them from across the street. "Can I interest you in a trade, respected elder?"

He had to focus, bringing memories of a past life to the forefront he'd rather forget, but it was worth the discomfort - his words came out in the same tongue the locals were speaking. The woman eyed him shrewdly, but her guard lowered as she straightened. Ryou marvelled at that, wondering what about him seemed trustworthy. He didn't dare ask, though he was curious.

"What is it you need?" the woman asked briskly, her hands hidden in the pockets of her skirt. No doubt gripping the hilt of a dagger.

"A cloak," Ryou replied, keeping his tone even and his hands in sight. Unthreatening. "And a waterskin. A satchel with some dried food, if possible."

The woman raked her eyes over him with careful disdain before arching a brow. "And what do you have to offer for such a trade?"

"This." Ryou cautiously lowered his hands to his bundle of clothes, pausing to wait for the woman's nod before he went ahead and pulled out one of the thinner sweaters. It was made of cashmere wool, the machine weave finer than anything this woman would've seen before. That, and it was an eye-catching burgundy colour.

The woman reached out, rubbing the cloth between rough fingers, humming contemplatively.

"A cloak and an empty waterskin," she finally said, her eyes glued to the sweater. Then her gaze darted to the rest of his bundle, greed flitting across her face. "And a small satchel of dried dates."

"A cloak, a filled waterskin, and a big satchel with two handfuls of dried dates," Ryou countered, meeting her eyes with a soft smile, his grip on the bundle of clothes firm and possessive.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Cloak, half-full waterskin, and satchel with one handful."

Ryou tilted his head, but he could see one of the men detaching from the group, slowly meandering in their direction. To check on the woman, or to see if Ryou had anything worth stealing, probably.

"A good cloak," he stipulated, and the woman nodded, her hand dropping from the cashmere.

"Wait here," she ordered and vanished into her home. Ryou glanced after her, then turned to stare at the approaching man, eyebrows raised in challenge. The man's fingers twitched, and he adjusted his path as if he'd just been walking down the street, paying the trade no heed. Checking out the goods, then. Ryou rolled up his remaining clothes tightly.

The old woman didn’t make him wait long, presenting him with an off-white cloak long enough to reach his ankles and a decently sized hood, a bit of thin rope looped through four holes in the front to tie it closed. Ryou exchanged it for his cashmere sweater, nodding. The woman grasped it close to her chest, glaring at the lurking men, before handing over a waterskin on a string and a satchel about the size of a small rucksack. Glancing inside, he could see the handful of dates rattling around.

With a nod of acknowledgement, Ryou stuffed his clothes into the satchel, slinging it over his back and tying the waterskin to his belt.

Thank the gods for a Duelist’s instinct to carry their cards everywhere, or he might not be wearing a belt in the first place. His hand brushed against his deck holster, and Ryou carefully refrained from hovering over it, as to not give away the ace up his sleeve.

“Anything else you wish to trade for, my friend?” the old woman asked with a grin that revealed several missing teeth.

Ryou considered asking for a dagger, but then shook his head. It would make him look weak. “No, thank you.”

And besides, he couldn’t trade all his clothes away. He would need them come night.

Pulling the hood up to hide his white hair, Ryou walked the streets of what he was convinced had to be Kuru Eruna. Now that he was less obviously a stranger, people paid him less attention. They were still watchful, keeping their careful distance from one another, avoiding bumping into one another and any such tricks a pickpocket might pull, too aware of how it all worked. And yet, it was surprisingly peaceful.

Ryou passed by several small stands, selling vegetables, fruits, leatherwork, and the like. Down the street he could see several camels tied to a fence, past several clusters of groups, gossipping and trading and generally living in a community. Here and there people sat on porches playing games, from senet to cup games of gambling. Children’s laughter rose with the wind, tiny feet running across sandy streets in little hordes.

A head of blindingly white hair caught his attention.

He’d almost missed it, blending in with a group of sitting elders with their grey hair. But what caught Ryou’s eye was the size of the person the white belonged to. The kid was small, younger than Mokuba when he’d first met the boy by years. If Ryou had to guess, he’d say the kid was anywhere between five and eight years old.

As the kid scurried through the crowd, unheeding of grumbled protests, Ryou met mauve eyes and froze.

He knew instantly, yet he couldn’t believe his eyes.

Bakura. That kid was Bakura.

The King of Thieves. Scourge of Egypt. Terror of Ryou’s teenage years.

And here he was, just a little kid.

The kid eyed him curiously before ducking his head and vanishing in the crowd, probably unnerved by Ryou’s stare. Shaking himself, Ryou moved off into an alley, leaning against the wall of the house. His heart raced away in his chest, pulse pounding in his throat. Laughter bubbled up to his lips, and Ryou muffled it into his palm. His shoulder heaved as laughter turned into sobs, though his eyes remained dry.

Fuck.

A part of him had expected to run into the thief. Had expected it, really. After all, was he in Kuru Eruna or wasn’t he?

But Kuru Eruna still stood, whole and thriving and untouched. Nothing at all like the ruins of burnt husks from his memory, no empty streets echoing with half-remembered screams. Maybe he should have known, from the bustling streets, the unconcerned people, but somehow Ryou hadn’t connected the dots until just then.

The massacre. It hadn’t happened yet.

Eyes widening, Ryou bolted upright, pushing away from the wall. If the lawless town of thieves hadn’t been sacrificed… the Items hadn’t been created yet. Heart beating in his throat, Ryou swallowed, following the thought to his logical conclusion. The patrols. The underground chamber.

The Millenium Stone.

He could stop it. He could stop the Shadow Realm from ever being accessed, hell, maybe even stop it from _existing_. He could spare these people, and many more of the lives about to be lost. He could change the past! No traumatized kid growing up into the thief of thieves, waging a war of vengeance against the pharaoh. No Items, no Puzzle, no _Ring_.

Trembling fingers rose up to his chest, curling into his shirt.

So much trauma, so much pain. It could all be avoided, if Ryou managed this. If he could do this…

 _No friends trapped in dolls,_ he thought wildly, fingers digging into his chest. _A normal childhood._

Ryou licked dry lips, gaze darting out the alley and across the crowded streets. These people had no idea what lay in store for them. They haggled and chatted and played, with no sign of the foreboding future hanging over their necks. He could save these people. He could save the kid.

And maybe in the process, he could save himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm very liberally mixing bits and bobs from both anime and manga canons :'D


	3. Metjen

Chin hooked over his knee, leg pulled up to his chest, Ryou watched the sun dip below the horizon from his perch on the roof of one of the houses on the edge of the village. Careful observation during the day had shown that whoever owned the building wasn’t here to mind his presence, whether they were travelling or dead.

With night falling, doubt crept back into Ryou’s mind. He’d spent the day watching the people of within the village go about their days, listening in on their conversations, and it had seemed real enough at the time. He’d caught glimpses of the future thief king several times, and each had been like a punch to the gut.

But now, alone on this roof, it was harder to believe. What were the chances of his mind coming up with this elaborate scenario, after all?

Probably as high as actual time travel, considering magic was likely involved, Ryou mused.

Still, in the vanishing light of dusk, everything seemed much more surreal. One would think a lawless town like Kuru Eruna to be brimming with crime, survival of the strongest type merriment, and general ruckus. And there was merriment to be had - a campfire towards the middle of the village had gathered quite the crowd, dancing and singing and laughing, probably drinking too as they celebrated the end of the word day.

Other than that, though, it was… peaceful.

It made Ryou wonder. Kuru Eruna seemed like any other small settlement. Were the people living here truly criminals? Or was that imperial propaganda to justify the sacrifice necessary to create the Millenium Items? Power often tempted humans to terrible deeds, it wasn’t entirely out of question. Ryou wouldn’t expect it of Yugi, but his darker side had sent many a soul to the Shadow Realm himself before Yugi put a stop to it. And if the Memory World the spirit of the Ring had built could be trusted, then the pharaoh had been but a child himself.

Was a child right now, if Ryou was actually in the past.

Just another kid, like the white-haired menace living in this very village.

Ryou pulled his knee tighter to his chest and rubbed his cheek against his leg. He had trouble reconciling the dark ghost who’d possessed him for several years with the laughing child, running carefree amongst the people living here. Innocent laughter where he expected cackling and dark amusement.

He pushed the memories the thought conjured away, firmly ignoring them, as always.

It was over and done with. Nothing he could change.

Except, if he really was in the past… then he could change _everything_. The idea was as scary as it was appealing, and just for that Ryou was inclined to believe it to be real. If it turned out to be nothing but a delusion, what was the harm in indulging? Who knew, maybe he’d stop having nightmares. Feel in control of his life, his destiny once more and move past the helplessness, the deer in the headlights feeling he tended to trap himself in. Finally move on with his life.

His therapist would be proud.

A cloud of dust and sand caught his attention, redirecting his focus from the setting sun to where it was building on the horizon. It didn’t appear like a sandstorm, but it was growing bigger the longer he watched, headed directly for the town. As it approached, Ryou started making out details, squinting against the low sunlight. Horses, and cloaked riders. Yelling mixed with the whinnying of horses.

Ryou watched as the small party around the campfire quieted down, some standing at attention and others herding the smaller of the children still up into the clay huts. Ryou sat up, biting his lips. Was it time already? Were those the soldiers, ready to drag everyone from their beds and to the sacrificial altar?

Was he too late already?

Concern flaring, Ryou jumped a couple roofs while everyone was distracted, before lying flat on his stomach near the campfire, close enough to the edge to peek over, but far enough away to duck out of sight easily. However, as the cloud reached the outer limits of the village, a cheer went up, several people running towards the riders calling greetings. One particular pair caught his eye once more, a woman carrying the white haired child as she hurried to meet the newcomers.

Curious despite himself, Ryou slipped over the ledge of the roof and dropped down, blending in with the crowd as they welcomed the riders.

“Leader!” the woman carrying the thief child called out, throwing herself in the arms of the first man into the village, who hopped from his saddle to meet her.

“My beautiful, my beloved, my lady of peace,” the man replied breathlessly in between kisses, before turning to kiss the child in her arms on the forehead. “My son. How big you’ve grown!”

Many more such greetings were exchanged, while Ryou stayed on the sidelines, watching with growing discomfort. He hadn’t given it thought before, but it made sense that- that the king of thieves had parents, a family, before everything. And while Ryou knew that family did not necessarily equal love, they seemed to genuinely care for each other.

It made what the ring spirit lost all the worse.

Ryou really didn’t want to sympathize with the spirit, but he couldn’t help but remember his own mother, remember Amane smiling at him the last thing he saw, remember the slippery wet road, the sudden crash as his world crumbled around him. He didn’t want to see the parallels between them.

Nevermind the irony of history repeating itself.

The village finally settled down around the campfire in much higher spirits, and those who’d gone into their homes were streaming out to join them. The group’s return was celebrated with many a toast and cheer, a wineskin being handed around for everyone to take a sip. Ryou was easily included in the festivities, no question asked. The riders boasted of their adventures, telling tall tales of their months of travel.

And any doubt that this was a town of thieves was laid to rest by their stories.

Grave robbing, raiding treasuries and tradeposts, many a narrow escape from the pharaoh’s forces seemed the backbone of each and every one of the tales. Ryou listened with half an ear, watching the leader - the thief king’s _father_ \- from the corner of his eyes. After having the honour of sharing the first of the many stories, the man sat back at his wife’s site, entertaining his son while Ryou watched, mesmerized.

An older man sat down next to them shortly after, and they bowed their heads together, talking in quiet voices amongst the merriment. The leader’s brow furrowed into a frown, and his gaze wandered over the gathered people, laughing and cheering the latest storyteller on. Then his eyes landed on Ryou, his mouth thinning into a firm line. With a nod to the elder, he stood and made his way over.

Swallowing, Ryou ducked his head, accepting a cup of wine someone shoved his way with a tight smile.

He didn’t look up when the leader sat down next to him either, though he was greeted enthusiastically by the people surrounding them. From under his fringe Ryou watched as the man indulged them with a charming smile and a rough laugh, accepting their praises while simultaneously making clear he wasn’t there to entertain them. Somehow, everyone seemed to get the message and focus back on the current storyteller, a small bubble of space forming around Ryou and the thieves’ leader.

“You are new here,” the man stated quietly, under the raucous cheering of the crowd. Ryou glanced his way. The man gave him a firm smile, not quite unfriendly but not open either. Not yet. “I am the leader.”

Ryou blinked, wondering if everyone called the man that. Considering his wife - or girlfriend, mother of his child, whatever she was to him - called him by the same… Ryou wondered if it was more of a name, a title bestowed upon him. Chief of their small village of criminals.

“Metjen,” he greeted, inclining his head and raising his cup in toast. “And yes. I just arrived last night.”

“And what may I call you, stranger?” The leader arched a brow, giving him a pointed look. Ryou flushed.

“Ano… my name’s Ryou.”

That gained him a puzzled look. Metjen stared off into the distance, lips forming around the sound of his name, before he tried, “Rho?”

Ryou shot him an awkward grin. “Close enough.”

The look in Men's eyes was piercing, as if he could see right through Ryou. Despite the man’s dark hair, Ryou could suddenly see the similarities between him and Ba- his past- the child.

“You are not from these lands,” Metjen stated, pausing to let him fill in the gaps. Ryou shrugged, taking a sip from his cup and grimacing. The alcohol was surprisingly strong - and tasted closer to nail polish than any wine he’d tried before.

“I am from further East,” he offered vaguely and hoped it would suffice.

“And yet you speak our tongue as if you were born in this very village,” Metjen commented, eyeing him sideways. Ryou paled, blood freezing over in his veins. It made sense, he supposed - he was leaning on the thief king’s memories for knowledge of the language. Although he hadn’t thought about it, he must have borrowed his accent as well.

“Yes, well…” Ryou cleared his throat, holding the cup awkwardly to his chest. Around them several people jumped up to form a circle around the fire, twirling and stomping their feet in a lively dance. “I’ve, uh, I’ve always had a talent for languages.”

“Hm,” Metjen hummed noncommittally, gaze roaming over the dancers, lingering on his wife and son as they joined the circle. Ryou joined him in watching, enthralled by the happy smile and soft baby cheeks of his p- the child.

"None here will bother you, should you wish to keep your secrets," Metjen stated, and Ryou supposed it made sense, for a village of outlaws to value such privacy. "However," Metjen continued, levelling his piercing gaze on Ryou once more, "should they endanger my people, I would ask you to share them promptly."

Ryou shook his head, then hesitated. His circumstances, being from the future, those sorts of secrets only brought danger when known. When people thought they could take advantage of it, if they believed him in the first place.

But.

He did have knowledge of what fate had in store for the people of Kuru Eruna. His eyes lingered on the giggling child in his mother's arms, content and safe. This was his chance to change things for the better. To ensure none of the Shadows found a hold in this reality.

A twinge of guilt at the thought of Yugi struck him. Out of all of them, Yugi had the most to lose with the changes Ryou was about to bring about. But… ultimately, Yugi was one of the most selfless people he knew. And it wasn't just him being selfish - although Ryou had to admit wanting to avoid his traumatic past was a huge part of his reasoning - but others would benefit from it, too. Marik and his family, Pegasus, and all the people they hurt for one.

Metjen noticed his hesitation, going by the way his gaze sharpened.

"My presence here is of no consequence for you and yours," Ryou offered, meeting the leader's eyes head on. "There lies no danger in my coming here - none that could reach you."

"But?" Metjen asked sharply.

Ryou pressed his lips together, thoughts racing. How to phrase this as not to be dismissed…

"During my travels I heard… rumours." Ryou averted his eyes, less the leader caught on to his careful lies. He needed the man to believe him. "Of a settlement of crooks and thieves."

"Well, you've found us," Metjen responded with a shrug, his carefree tone at odds with his serious expression.

"There were… whispers of a plan. To bring these thieves to justice."

Rolling his shoulders, Metjen leaned back, stretching out his legs and crossing his ankles.

"There's usually some of those flying around," he said dismissively. "They have come to naught so far."

Ryou bit his lower lip, glancing at the man sideways. "Word is the pharaoh’s own brother was put in charge of the… cleansing, as they called it.”

That certainly caught Metjen’s attention, his eyes darting around before settling on Ryou. His eyebrows knitted together over his nose, forehead wrinkling in a dark look. “The pharaoh’s brother himself.”

Ryou nodded, trying to convey the seriousness of the threat with his expression alone.

“Akhenaden has always been ambitious,” Metjen murmured to himself, staring at his hands in his lap. Then he raised his gaze to meet Ryou’s, suspicion evident in the lines of his face. “How did you acquire such important intelligence, Rho?”

"People talk freely, when they don't think you can hear them. Or understand what they’re saying."

Ryou licked his lips, shrugging one shoulder. He couldn’t think of anything to say to convince Metjen he _wasn’t_ a, a planted spy, or whatever the leader of Kuru Eruna suspected. But then, as long as the village prepared for the attack, did it really matter if Ryou stayed here? He could go hide out in the underground chambers again, they weren’t far. The thought made Ryou sit up straight, meeting Metjen’s eyes with a challenging look.

“Regardless of whether you believe me or not, I did run into a patrol of guards not far from here.”

Metjen’s eyes narrowed. “Did you lead them here?”

“No.” Ryou huffed, crossing his arms. “Of course not. I wouldn’t have come had I not managed to evade them.”

Some of the spirit’s skills had been passed on to Ryou, and he had his own experiences avoiding bullies besides. The idea of someone spotting him when he wanted to remain unseen was laughable, and that despite his white shock of hair. Sometimes he wondered if the sneaking was genetic, or if the shadows helped hide him from view, reacting to his subconscious wishes.

Metjen mustered him for a moment longer, before nodding slowly. “I thank you for the warning, friend. I will think about what you’ve said.”

Dropping his arms, Ryou nodded, feeling a little awkward now that the first step of his vague plan had been taken. Metjen clapped his shoulder and stood, catching his wife’s eye across the fire and beckoning her over. Ryou tensed, not sure he was ready to face the kid who would one day become the spirit possessing the Ring.

“In the meantime, why don’t you stay in my home? Hospitality is the least I could offer in thanks.”

And it’d be easier to keep an eye on him in case he turned out to be a spy, Ryou mused wryly. Ignoring the child in the woman’s arms as best as he could, Ryou looked up at Metjen with wide, innocent eyes.

“I was just going to sleep on a roof…”

“Nonsense!” Metjen insisted with a laugh that only seemed a little exaggerated for effect. He turned to the woman as she came to stand next to them with a smile, wrapping an arm around her waist. She ignored him, her gaze raking over Ryou, dark eyes narrowed with habitual distrust. Her light violet hair flowed down her back, leaving no doubt who Ba- the kid inherited his from.

Then she turned a questioning look onto her husband.

“This is Rho.” Metjen waved a hand in Ryou’s direction. “I offered him a place to sleep for the night.”

His wife eyed Metjen for a moment, before nodding sharply. She adjusted her son’s weight against her hip, who was watching Ryou with an open expression of curiosity.

“I am Nebetah,” she introduced herself briskly. Lady of peace, Ryou translated, quirking a smile at her. What an ironic name.

“Ryou,” he introduced himself in turn, inclining his head in a polite bow. “Nice to meet you.”

Nebetah arched a brow in a look that dripped with judgement. “Just Rho?”

Ryou tilted his head, considering her, careful not to so much as glance at the kid. He wasn’t quite sure, of course, but he had a feeling that their names were rather similar, if of different origins. Then again, names dedicated to Ra were common enough in Egypt, and since there was no way for him to know the kid’s name, it shouldn’t make him appear any more suspicious.

He considered briefly the order of his names, since surnames weren’t really a thing yet as far as he knew.

All the names dedicated to Ra he could recall off the top of his head either started or ended with the _ra_ syllable, though, so it seemed prudent to stick to the theme.

“Ryou Bakura,” he offered after the pause stretched on long enough to become awkward. 

“Oh? Indeed?” Nebetah exchanged another quick look with Metjen, who shrugged.

“He is from foreign lands, to the East he says.”

“Hm.” Nebetah looked Ryou over once more, her eyes lingering on his white hair, so similar to her son’s. Then the tension drained from her frame, leaving her watchful rather than outright hostile. “He has the pale skin of the exotic Northerners.”

“And this is our son,” Metjen continued as if nothing happened. The boy reached out for his father at those words with a happy grin, and Metjen took him from his wife without an ounce of hesitation. “Our heart and pride, Bak-Ra.”

“Ah,” Ryou said, darting a glance at Nebetah’s closed off expression, just daring him to step out of line. “I see.”

The kid glanced curiously up at him, his tiny fingers curling into his father’s cloak, and Ryou had to force his expression to remain blank, a tangled ball of emotions roiling in his stomach at the sight. Seeing those sharp eyes soft and open, trusting, sent his thoughts spiralling, the memory of cackling laughter in his ears. He wanted to pretend this was just another kid, someone he didn’t know, and maybe it would be easier if he could, but…

The dissonance was too great.

“Come,” Nebetah interrupted his internal struggle, her hands twitching as if she wanted to reach for a knife. “My husband offered you hospitality, and it is getting late.”

“Bedtime for little thieves,” Metjen agreed, tickling his giggling son.

“No!” he protested, still laughing, hiding his face against his father’s shoulder. “Not tired, Ab! Amma, help!”

“Bedtime,” Nebetah agreed, putting herself between Ryou and her son as she herded them down the street, keeping half an eye on Ryou as he followed hesitantly. Ryou ducked his head, hiding a smile behind the curtain of his hair. The thief king’s mother was so unlike his own. He wondered what Bak-Ra would grow up to be like, with her guiding hand and protection.

Maybe, if he was stuck in the past, he’d even live to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Metjen and Nebetah are my two new fave OCs btw
> 
> also for the record, I took their names from the user-submitted list on behindthename.com, so the accuracy of them a) being proper Ancient Egyptian names and b) their meaning being translated correctly is slightly questionable... but I liked them and their irony/fit too much to pass up on it xD
> 
> (other fun fact I saw while looking these things up, Kuru Eruna/Kul Elna is likely a play on/inspired by the old village el-Qurna (on the West Bank of the River Nile opposite the modern city of Luxor), which Hassan Fathy alleges the inhabitants of were robbing ancient tombs as means of subsistence due to poverty.)


	4. Nebetah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for a little bit of violence and blood

Unsurprisingly, the leader’s house stood in the middle of the village, likely one of the first homes to be built. The clay walls had been smoothed down over time, mostly even and cool to the touch. The downstairs was split into three separate spaces by curtains, with a small room with exit to the roof for little Bak-Ra. It was homey.

Ryou felt a twinge of regret. For the kid, it _was_ a home. The only one he’s known so far.

Perhaps his reasons for wanting to stop the massacre were selfish in nature, but surely Yugi would agree that this kid should be spared the pain as well. These people might be grave robbers, yet what was to happen to them seemed a punishment far out of proportion. And their children were innocent. Any child deserved a safe home and parents who cared for them, even if they would one day grow up to be the scourge of Egypt.

Ryou resolutely did not think of car crashes, of loss, of a grieving father growing more distant.

Refused to linger on the memories he lacked from his teenage years, the bouts of unconsciousness that had plagued him.

Nebetah had given him a spare blanket and shown him to a corner with a heap of straw for him to settle down on. It wasn’t the sort of bed he was used to, but he’d been prepared to sleep in a tent on shifting desert sand for several months. Still, sleep only came to him after several hours of tossing and turning, wrangling with his emotions without acknowledging their existence.

He woke well after dawn to the soft voices of Metjen and Nebetah speaking, separated by two curtain walls. Ryou kept his eyes closed and strained his ears, curious.

“...up the number of guard patrols. If his information is to be believed…”

“And yet you claim you don’t trust him,” Metjen teased, laughter shining through the words. Nebetah harrumphed, emanating exasperation with her mere presence.

“Whether or not he lies, it is better to be safe.”

There was a break in their conversation, in which all Ryou could hear was the shuffling of feet and the stirring of a pot. Breakfast, probably.

“You should take your son with you,” Nebetah broke the silence. A rustle of clothes followed, and Ryou shifted his head, turning it slightly in their direction under cover of the noise.

“He is too young still,” Metjen objected, disbelief ringing in his voice.

“Yes,” Nebetah agreed, her tone no-nonsense. “Yet he is capable. He can steal from seven elders out of ten without them noticing. And they are seasoned thieves themselves!”

“It’s too dangerous.” Metjen started to sound agitated, and Ryou was certain it was him who started pacing. The stirring of the pot continued uninterrupted. “If we are seen, if it comes to a fight-”

“It is just a patrol,” Nebetah pointed out, and while her voice didn’t rise, it did turn sharper. “He needs experience to grow, does he not?”

“...you are right, of course, my beloved wife.” Metjen’s tone, in response, grew placating, but not in a condescending way. “Perhaps I will take him with me on patrol later today. First, I would like to see how his fighting skills are progressing.”

“In that case, perhaps you would like to take the measure of our guest at the same time?” Nebetah suggested, her tone flat. She clearly disapproved of keeping Ryou close while he might yet prove a danger.

“That is not a bad idea,” Metjen mused, his pacing coming to an end. “Yes, I believe I shall.”

The pitter patter of bare feet on the stairs derailed the conversation, little Bak-Ra greeting his parents enthusiastically. Ryou tuned out his chatter as he told his father of things he’d missed, heart clenching in his chest. He opened his eyes and stared at the wall, pondering his options.

After the debacle with the Millenium Items, Ryou had expected to be able to put the whole experience behind him. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy - nightmares continued to plague him, despite the reassurance that the Ring was gone, and with it the spirit who possessed him. But he had lost the Ring several times before, and each it returned to him, no matter how hard he tried to be rid of it. And he couldn’t convince himself that it was just a matter of time again.

So he tried to distract himself. He lost himself in his school work, in painting figurines, anything and everything that caught his eye.

And he’d gone to classes. Self defense, at first, then he’d tried several martial arts, karate, judo, aikido, kendo. None of them felt quite right, his muscle memory telling him he was bigger, stronger than he really was and messing him up. The senseis called him clumsy and put him through his paces, but in the end, Ryou couldn’t stick with it long-term. It left him with some experience and useful skills, but nothing to brag about. He could throw a punch, or trip someone up, so what?

That would not help him if the spirit came back.

Ultimately, that was why he stopped. He didn’t need to add more skills to the spirit’s arsenal.

He wondered how his spotty fighting, rusty as it was, would measure up against the leader of Kuru Eruna. Metjen was built like a brickhouse, compared to Ryou’s own slender form. His best bet was to dodge and evade, he figured. And try very hard not to go for the kill.

Being in the desert, in the past, in this very village was dragging all sorts of memories back up, memories he didn’t even remember. They had to be Bak-Ra’s, faded and worn with age, flickers of ghosts from the corner of his eyes. His father’s sharp orders ringing through the streets, his mother’s warm hand as she covered his eyes… no, not his. The child’s.

It was getting hard to remember that this was the spirit’s past self, the spirit’s memories of the past.

The smell of garlic finally convinced Ryou to get up and see what was for breakfast. He had only a very vague idea of what to expect. His introduction into ancient cultures class only brushed on the subject, so he was aware that bread and beer were the major staples of the ancient Egyptian diet, but further than that… and his stolen memories weren’t exactly focussed on such daily chores.

Indeed, Nebetah was busy grinding some sort of fruit - figs, maybe? - into a paste to go with garlic-flavoured bread and the expected watery beer.

It was different from what he was used to, but filling. Bak-Ra quieted down a little once he joined them, before apparently deciding to ignore him and continue telling his father about the little adventures he had during his absence. Nebetah admonished him occasionally to finish his breakfast, but otherwise no one interrupted. Ryou glanced at Metjen from the corner of his eyes, mustering his expression. Attentive, listening.

There was that twinge in his heart again, guilt and longing.

“Why don’t you show your father what you’ve learned, son?” Nebetah suggested as she gathered the dishes, and Bak-Ra jumped to his feet with an excited shout. Ryou stayed behind to help clean up, and as to not give Nebetah more reasons to worry. Watching her son train had to be another red flag for the distrustful woman.

Ryou was fine with the silence stretching between them as they worked, but Nebetah clearly had other plans.

“Metjen mentioned you came with a warning,” she broke the ice, not bothering with any lead up whatsoever. Ryou’s soft smile turned crooked.

“I did.” He gathered the crumbs he’d brushed together, adding them to the bin Nebetah showed him. Then he dusted off his hands, not looking up. “I realize how, hmm, suspicious that might sound.”

“Do you,” Nebetah drawled, crossing her arms and leaning against the door jamb, watching him with hooded eyes. “And yet, you still passed on the warning.”

“I couldn’t just say nothing.” Finally, Ryou raised his gaze to meet hers. While Metjen might be the leader of the thieves, it started to dawn on him that Nebetah was the one to watch over the families in his absence. He wondered if she took a role akin to a village head or chieftain.

Nebetah hummed, though at least her tone was more thoughtful than judgemental. Progress, Ryou figured.

"You came here on purpose," Nebetah stated, rather than asked. "You were seeking Kuru Eruna."

Ryou grimaced. The truth was hard to explain. It wasn’t like he could say ‘your son will one day ruin my life and I’ll forever be drawn to figuring out why’.

“Not… I don’t know. I was looking for something, but I didn’t expect…” Ryou shrugged one shoulder half-heartedly. “Metjen promised not to pry.”

“Hmm. He would.” Nebetah eyed him for one stretching moment, then put the bowls away and changed the topic. “Can you fight?”

“Not well,” Ryou replied immediately, relieved she dropped the subject for now. This he was at least somewhat prepared for.

"Let's see it, then." Nebetah stemmed her hands on her hips and nodded towards the door. Ryou followed her into what probably counted as a backyard. Neither Metjen nor their son were anywhere to be seen.

"Now what?" Ryou asked, curious and confused at once.

In response, Nebetah shifted her feet into a solid stance, procuring a knife from thin air and holding it up in a guard position. "Now we fight."

Surprised, Ryou stumbled back as Nebetah jumped him, barely avoiding the lash of the blade. He blocked her follow-up punch on instinct, then jumped her swift kick aimed at his ankle. Nebetah, Ryou quickly learned, was ruthless. And while she was all lithe muscles and quick strikes, Ryou couldn't shake a sense of familiarity.

She fought like the Thief King did.

Or perhaps, more accurately, Bak-Ra fought like her.

His distraction cost him immediately, Nebetah upping her already vicious speed, the blade of her knife catching him in small nicks that could be much deeper if she didn’t pull back at the last moment. Even in that she showcased incredible control. But Ryou didn’t have time to admire as Nebetah pushed him relentlessly, taking any opening he gave her.

He did his best blocking and dodging. Nebetah’s eyes narrowed, and then she sped up things even _faster_. Eyes widening, Ryou had to rely on instinct to avoid her knife and fist.

He knew he should go on the offensive, but…

Then the choice was taken out of his hand. Instinct took over as he caught her arm and rolled Nebetah over his shoulder. The knife clattered to the ground while Nebetah made an admirable attempt at landing in a crouch, clearly taken off-guard. Against his better judgement, Ryou lunged for the knife, figuring he could toss it far enough away to take it out of the fight.

But as he rose with the knife in hand, Nebetah dashed forward, trying to knock the blade out of his hand. Instinctively, Ryou countered, whirling her around and up against the wall, knife hand following through, blade glinting in the sun as it nicked the skin of her throat. And Ryou… froze.

Blood dripped onto bronze, vivid crimson.

The last time he remembered holding a knife, the spirit hadn’t managed to completely put him under, distracted by his prey from exerting total control over his host. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed - Ryou was paralyzed with fear, afraid of what the spirit was planning, of what the consequences of his actions were. He didn’t want more blood on his hands than he already had.

He blinked back memories of that day, his vision swimming back to the present. It cleared slowly, as if a haze had descended over him. The hand with which he held the knife was steady, not budging an inch, but the other one trembled. He clenched it into a fist and pressed it firmly against the clay wall.

Nebetah eyed him shrewdly, ignoring the blade at her throat. "You've handled a knife before."

Ryou blushed at the double entendre and took a step back, lowering the stolen blade.

"It's mostly instinctive," he admitted quietly, ducking his head. "I am… rusty."

Nebetah hummed, her gaze turning contemplative. “Not bad, for rusty.”

Ryou shrugged, not sure what to say to that. Nebetah nodded as if he had answered.

“The way you fight… it’s different,” she mused, holding out her hand. Feeling awkward, Ryou relinquished the knife to her. He felt like he should apologize, but then again, she did start it. And she didn’t seem mad, either. “And yet, you reminded me of spars with my sister.”

Swallowing, Ryou averted his eyes. “I had some teachers, back in the East.”

“Very well, then, Rho,” Nebetah murmured, her eyes like hot irons on the back of his neck. Except he wasn’t sure iron was invented yet. “You may keep your secrets.”

With that, she left the backyard, returning to her house and whatever duties she might have. Ryou stood there, in the shade of the house, watching her. Not a lot of the memories he’d… inherited... had featured her. Then again, Bak-Ra was around the same age he’d been when his mother died, and at least he had pictures to remember her by. His own memories from before that time were hazy at best.

He’d felt safe. He remembered that much.

Bak-Ra would grow up feeling safe and loved, Ryou swore to himself, his gaze drawn to the droplets of blood on the sand like an offering. If he accomplished nothing else while in the past, whether or not he was stuck here - he would see to that.

At least one of them deserved a happy childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will take a bit longer than usual - life's been busy and I haven't gotten as far ahead pre-writing chapters as I'd like, and next chapter ends on something of a... well not exactly a cliffhanger, but a darker note, and I'd like to have quicker updates after it rather then leave you hanging _then_.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I'm still in the process of writing this (and there's a chunk where Ryou and kid!Kura are off on adventures I haven't really plotted out, so I'm open to suggestions), but updates should still happen pretty regularly :)
> 
> (current total word count: 11k and going)


End file.
